Yuletide Happily Ever After II: An Original Regency Romance Collection

by Anna Bradley

  Dinah removed her hat and cloak and shook out her limp skirts while Oliver gathered up the pile of carriage rugs and arranged them on the floor. “There. Your makeshift bed awaits. I doubt it will be terribly comfortable, but given the…” He turned to face Dinah, and immediately forgot what he’d been about to say. “Your hair.”

  She let out a self-conscious laugh and reached a hand to her head. “Oh, yes. It will dry more quickly if it’s loose.”

  “It’s…” Oliver began, but none of the words that rushed to his tongue could begin to do justice to the sight before him. Fragments of extravagantly romantic poetry floated through his head—odes to ribbons of dark silk, effusions on dusky, magical locks and waterfalls of sable curls— but no poem could capture the pure, raw beauty of Dinah standing before him with her hair tumbling down her back.

  An ache pierced his chest, joy and pain at once, because she was so truly herself like this, so perfect in her vulnerability, so much the woman he’d dreamed of making his, and he may never have the privilege of seeing her this way again.

  “W-Will you lie down? That is, not lie down. I didn’t mean…” Oliver stammered, trying to gather his wits. “What I mean is, if you’d like to rest, I’ve made a place for you here.”

  Dinah glanced uncertainly at the nest of rugs spread on the floor, then back to Oliver’s face. “Yes, I…thank you, I will.”

  Oliver waited until Dinah had settled herself among the rugs, then he seated himself on the floor and leaned his back against the wall. For a while the only sound was the faint hiss of steam from the pipes. Oliver was certain Dinah must have drifted off, but then she stirred.

  “Can’t you sleep?” he asked.

  She sighed. “No. I’m too agitated, I suppose.”

  Oliver remembered something then, something he hadn’t yet shown to her. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He darted out the door, rummaged about inside the coach until he found what he was looking for, then went back inside, closing the greenhouse door behind him.

  “Oliver?” Dinah was sitting up.

  “I know you said you won’t accept a gift from me, but it’s just a small thing, and I want you to have it.” Oliver knelt next to her, the ivory music box with the blue cornflowers cradled in his palms. He turned the silver knob on the bottom, then set the box carefully on the floor beside her. “Maybe this will help you sleep.”

  Dinah sucked in a breath as the first tinkling notes of Voi Che Sapete drifted through the air. “The music box.”

  Her soft voice, the wonderment on her face as she gazed up at him…it took every bit of control he had not to touch her, stroke his fingertips down her cheek. “Yes. You said your grandmother used to sing this song to you at bedtime.”

  They were both quiet as they listened to the music, then Oliver started to rise.

  Dinah stayed him with a hand on his arm. “Wait, Oliver.”

  Oliver caught his breath at the softness in her dark blue eyes. “Yes?”

  She lay back down, then shifted the rugs aside to make a space for him. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

  *****

  Dinah didn’t wait for Oliver to gather her against him, and she didn’t wait for him to kiss her. Instead, without a word she opened her arms to him and brushed her lips over his.

  She’d regret it later, perhaps, but she wouldn’t think of that now—not with his lips on hers, his soft exhalations drifting over her face and his breathless murmurs in her ear. Not when he told her with his every word and touch how much she meant to him.

  How much he loved her.

  And he did. For now, he did.

  As for later, well…some things were only meant to be for an instant, suspended and breathless and out of time. Once, when Dinah was very young, she’d held a butterfly in her palm. Its wings had stilled for only a heartbeat before it fluttered away, and even as young as she’d been, she’d understood the moment was more precious for having been fleeting.

  This time with Oliver was the same—precious, but fleeting.

  But that didn’t matter now, not when he was kissing her, his lips trailing over her cheek, the shell of her ear, her throat. He found every inch of her bare skin and caressed her until her body grew restless under his.

  “Oliver, please.”

  Dinah wasn’t sure what she was asking—a plea for his hands, for his mouth—but she didn’t need to beg for him, because she’d hardly breathed the words before his lips found hers. He kissed her and kissed her—deep, drugging kisses that left her breathless and dazed. He teased his tongue over the seam of her lips again and again, soft groans tearing from his chest when she opened her mouth under his.

  “Arms over your head, sweetheart.” He didn’t wait for her to obey but wrapped his fingers around her wrists and raised her arms over her head, then held them there as he scraped his teeth lightly over the curves of her neck. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “If I had you forever, I’d still never have enough of you.”

  Dinah arched her neck, a silent plea for his kiss. His mouth was hot, his tongue curling around hers until she was gasping for breath, then he moved lower to bite gently at the hollow of her throat before closing his lips around her nipple.

  “Oliver.” Dinah arched against him, breathing hard as he teased at the straining peak. She struggled under him, trying to get closer as he tormented her, his eager mouth wetting the fabric.

  “No,” he rumbled against her ear when she tried to lower her arms. He shifted to take both her wrists in one hand, then reached down to caress her other nipple with lazy strokes of his thumb. “I want you like this, spread out for me.”

  Dinah shivered at the command in his voice, the sensual promise. She let her arms go lax over her head, and stretched her body under his, offering herself without reserve. Oliver sensed her surrender and let out a purely masculine growl of satisfaction. “Yes, love, just like that. I want to touch you everywhere, sweetheart.”

  And he did.

  He touched her lips, her neck, her breasts, and between her legs, stroking the tender, swollen flesh until she was incoherent with need, helpless whimpers and pleas vibrating in her throat. In those breathless, unguarded moments, where there was no place for fear, Dinah could no longer deny to herself Oliver was everything she’d ever wanted, and everything she hadn’t believed existed.

  Not just the playful rogue who made her smile, but a gentleman, and a man of honor. A passionate man, and a demanding lover, but also a true friend who protected and cherished her. A man with such a deep well of love inside him a lifetime of sharing it could never bleed it dry, never diminish it.

  And he wanted to share it with her.

  A sound tore from her chest—a sob of passion, pain, gratitude and love. She might have wept forever, but Oliver was there in an instant, soothing the hurt she’d long ago buried in the deepest part of her heart, and kissing the cries from her lips. “You’re safe here, Dinah,” he whispered, “You’re safe with me. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

  Oh, she wanted to, wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything, and he was helping her, easing her closer to faith and trust and joy. Every caress of his fingers, every stroke of his tongue, every whispered word nudged her toward the edge of a dream where there were no questions, and no regrets. No thought at all, only him, his warm body wrapped around hers, his tongue curling against hers until Dinah was gasping for breath, utterly lost to him.

  But Oliver wasn’t lost. He knew just how to touch her, just how to coax the reaction he wanted from her quivering body. His lips and fingers seemed to be everywhere at once, petting and circling, drawing her body tighter and tighter until at last the knot inside her unfurled in waves of bliss so intense she was panting and moaning with it.

  “Yes,” he whispered, his lips tracing her skin. “Take your pleasure, sweetheart.”

  His blue eyes blazed as he gazed down at her, and she could feel him, his hard length pressed against her hip. He moved agains
t her, but his thrusts were slow, lazy, as if her pleasure was enough for him, and he was content to simply hold her, and ride the fine edge between desire and satisfaction.

  Dinah cradled his face in her hands and brought his mouth down to hers. He groaned when she slicked her tongue over his bottom lip and took it into her mouth to suck on it, but he didn’t raise her skirts, or make any other move to take her. He only placed a sweet kiss on the end of her nose, then began to draw away.

  Dinah twined her arms around his neck, stilling him. “You didn’t…you’re still—”

  Another helpless groan tore from Oliver’s lips when she arched against him, her legs parting slightly as her hips pressed into his, but he only pressed a quick, tender kiss to her lips, then shifted his body away from hers.

  “No. Don’t go.” Dinah clutched at him, panic unlike any she’d ever felt before overwhelming her. She couldn’t let him leave her, couldn’t lose him—

  “Shhh.” Oliver brushed his lips over her forehead. “I have to, sweetheart. I meant it when I said I don’t want you as my mistress, Dinah. I want you to be my wife. You’ll never be truly mine otherwise, and I’m not a man who takes what isn’t mine.”

  There was no rancor in his tone, no accusation.

  Nothing for her to say in reply.

  She was afraid he’d leave her then, but he didn’t. He pulled the carriage rugs around them, then wrapped her in his arms and eased her head down to his chest with a gentle hand on her neck. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Sleep.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Abberton, England

  December 30th

  It had taken four days, but fate had finally caught up with her.

  Dinah couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment it occurred or the specific event that provoked it, but somehow, between casks of Scottish whiskey and black kittens, sapphires and music boxes, Viking ghosts and greenhouses and breathtaking blue eyes, the inevitable had happened.

  Dinah had lost her wits.

  Looking back, she was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. She’d been flirting with madness since they left London. Now, twenty miles from Cliff’s Edge, there could be no doubt she’d succumbed at last.

  Madness was the only reasonable explanation for why she should be perched on the edge of the seat in Oliver’s coach, a sleeping puppy sprawled on his back across her knees and a pineapple clutched to her chest. The spiked ends were poking into her chin, but Dinah didn’t dare set it aside. Lord Horace, for all his rambling about proper soil composition, root rot and predatory insects had made one point perfectly plain.

  The pineapple mustn’t freeze.

  If it did, it wouldn’t bear fruit. If it didn’t bear fruit, Oliver’s gift would be spoiled, and they’d have nothing to show for their trip to Sittingbourne but a dead pineapple. Penelope would be dreadfully disappointed, and everything would be ruined.

  Dinah was doing all she could to keep it warm, but the temperature had dropped since they’d left Lord Horace’s estate. She wrapped her hands around the pineapple’s rough sides and hugged it closer, drawing the edge of her cloak around it, but it felt hopeless, as if the best she could do would never be enough to save it.

  It was going to freeze, despite her efforts. Already it felt cold and hard against her fingers, and they were only as far as Abberton. It would be another three hours before they reached Cliff’s Edge. By then the pineapple would be nothing but a prickly block of ice—fit for nothing, and useful to no one.

  Foolishness, to imagine she could take care of something so rare, so precious. She should have refused to let Oliver relinquish it to her. She should have made him understand he couldn’t trust her with it, that she couldn’t keep it safe.

  Pineapples were delicate, fragile things. They needed warmth and light and gentle nurturing—all things Dinah couldn’t give. How could she? No one had ever shown her those things, or taught her how to offer them to…to…

  To a pineapple.

  All that sweet, tender golden flesh, ruined by her ignorance.

  A beautiful, loving heart, one filled with laughter and light, broken by her coldness…

  Dinah’s vision blurred and she squeezed her eyes closed.

  Those hours she’d spent with Oliver in London—all those nights he’d come to the Pandemonium to watch her perform, then waited out in the mews afterwards to take her home. All that time, he’d been looking out for her. He’d been teaching her what it meant to take care of someone, to love them.

  All the times he’d made her smile, made her laugh, given her joy…

  He’d been showing her how much he loved her, and what had she done for him in return? She’d taken everything he offered in her greedy hands without understanding what it was, or having the vaguest idea how to give it back to him.

  How many times had she looked into his eyes and disregarded his love? How many times had she overlooked how much sweeter her life was now she’d found him? How many times had she told herself she was the one taking care of him?

  She was in love with him. Perhaps she had been all along, ever since that dark night a year ago when she’d fired a pistol at him and he’d dragged her from her carriage to prevent her from taking another shot.

  Oliver believed love could overcome any obstacle, turn coldness into warmth and darkness into light, but Dinah knew better. She’d freeze his warmth, swallow his light. He couldn’t see that yet, but years from now, when Oliver had a family like Alistair Rutherford’s—a family he could be proud of—he’d look back on this mad journey from London to Essex and be grateful it had come to nothing.

  Dinah tucked the pineapple into the crook of her elbow and let her mind drift, as it had time and again, to the delirious kisses she’d shared with Oliver in the greenhouse. The touch of his lips to hers, the gentle, almost reverent glide of his fingertips over her skin, his soft words in her ears…

  You’re safe here, Dinah. Safe with me.

  She was. She’d always been safe with Oliver.

  The trouble was, Oliver wasn’t safe with her.

  The puppy whined as she squirmed against the cushion. She cupped one hand around his warm, round belly, her other arm still wrapped around the pineapple. “Hush, now. It’s all right.”

  She didn’t intend to fall asleep, but she did, and dreamed of Oliver’s lips against hers, his husky whisper in her ear.

  I love you, and I believe you love me, Dinah—

  “Dinah!”

  The shout penetrated the haze of sleep, and Dinah startled awake. The pup was racing in excited circles at her feet, it’s stubby tail waving madly, having abandoned her lap for a much more amusing pursuit.

  “Oh, no.” She’d dropped the pineapple in her sleep, and now it was rolling about on the floor of the coach, with the puppy leaping gamely after it. She reached down and snatched it up, but the spikey green leaves were covered with the puppy’s teeth marks, and it was heavier than it had been, now more ice than fruit.

  “Dinah!” The coach door flew open.

  Dinah blinked at the light. They were in the circular drive at Cliff’s Edge, and Penelope was peering into the coach, a blinding smile on her face. “How I’ve missed you!”

  “Miss Bishop. We’re so glad you decided to join us for Christmas. Lady Archer has hardly been able to contain her excitement.” Lord Archer stepped forward and reached for Dinah’s hand, but before he could take it the puppy darted toward the open door and tumbled onto the drive at Penelope’s feet.

  Lord Archer reached down and plucked him up. “Who’s this handsome fellow? Fine pup, Oliver. Where did you get him?”

  “Lord Dunton.” Oliver stepped forward, took Dinah’s cold hand in his warm one and helped her from the coach. “He’s one of Massie’s.”

  Lord Archer’s eyes widened. “How did you manage that? Wait, never mind,” he added with a chuckle, before Oliver could answer. “It’s probably best if I don’t know. Fine animal, or he will be, once he gro
ws a little. He’ll be a capital hunter. All of Massie’s dogs are.” Lord Archer stroked the puppy’s head, his tone wistful.

  Oliver was gazing at Dinah, his brow creased in an anxious frown, but he offered his brother a distracted smile. “I’m glad you approve, Will, because he’s yours.”

  Lord Archer’s mouth fell open. “Mine?”

  “He’s your Christmas gift. You did say you wanted a hunter, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I do. I never dreamed I’d get one of Massie’s dogs, though.” Lord Archer grinned, delighted. “He’s perfect. Thank you, Oliver.”

  Oliver didn’t seem to hear his brother. “Are you quite all right, Din—that is, Miss Bishop? You look pale.”

  “Never mind Miss Bishop, Oliver.” Penelope rose to her tiptoes to kiss Oliver’s cheek, then made a shooing gesture. “You may leave her to me. I’ll take good care of her.”

  Oliver didn’t move, his gaze still locked on Dinah’s face. Penelope shot her husband a look, and Lord Archer slapped Oliver on the back. “Come on, then. Let’s see if the pup will chase a stick.”

  “Better make it a twig,” Oliver grumbled. He cast one last anxious look at Dinah, but allowed himself to be led away.

  “Thank goodness they’re gone. You look as if you could use some tea. Here, let me take that.” Penelope nodded at Dinah’s hands.

  Dinah blinked down at herself. She hadn’t realized she was still clutching the pineapple. Penelope drew it away from her, then slid her arm through Dinah’s and led her to the house. When they reached the drawing room, she placed the pineapple carefully on the tea table, and led Dinah to a seat beside the fire.

  Dinah allowed herself to be seated, but she only nodded in response to Penelope’s cheerful chatter. She was afraid if she spoke, she’d burst into tears.

  Penelope didn’t seem to notice. “Christopher and Maddy are out riding, but they’re both anxious to see you. Maddy has a suitor—did I tell you? I thought Christopher might have settled on Miss Everard, but he’s such a dreadful flirt it’s difficult to tell. There’s to be a supper tomorrow evening with dancing afterward, so you’ll have to help me determine if—”